


Strange Developments

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk (Cartoon 1996)
Genre: Backstory, Bets & Wagers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Hot Chocolate, Insomnia, Light Angst, Midnight Discussions, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-10 03:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: “Huh, and here I thought I was the only one awake.”Stephen started and looked up. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was Jennifer, wearing her pyjamas and a tired smile. She walked towards him, pushing her long, forest green hair out of her face.“Evidently not,” he agreed, closing his book.She frowned as her eyes moved over the table, lingering on the piles of paper, open laptop and books in front of him.  “What’s all this?”“I was just doing some studying.”“In the middle of the night. In the kitchen. In your pyjamas.”
Relationships: Doctor Strange & The Cloak of Levitation, Doctor Strange/She Hulk, Jennifer Walters & Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange/Jennifer Walters
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Strange Developments

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. This couple has definitely not left me alone--if anything, I have more ideas for the couple than ever. So, I decided to pen one for anyone else who's interested. This is a "semi-sequel" to "the Dark Corners of Our Minds", but it can be read alone. 
> 
> As was the case in that story, I have blended elements from the marvel cinematic verse, the marvel comics and the Incredible Hulk Cartoon series in order to create this version of the Marvel universe. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this story and appreciates the few slight references to the comic book story lines that I've throw in here.

_Everything has a price. That’s the most fundamental law of magic. It’s an equivalent exchange, so to speak. For each gain, there must be a loss. Whether this loss is a personal one, your own energy, or something from the world around you depends on the way you cast the spell and how you guide its effects._

“I already knew that,” Stephen muttered aloud.

He looked up from his book and blinked hard. He’d decided earlier that, rather than study in his room or one of the libraries, he’d study in his kitchen. He’d always liked studying in the kitchen, even when he was a child. Tonight in particular the warmth from the pizza oven; the smell of the beeswax polish on the cabinets; and the moonlight glinting off the modern appliances—it made him feel comfortable. Safe.

There were, of course, other reasons he’d decided to move to the kitchen. The one was the Cloak of Levitation—or, “Levi” for short. Whenever he put Levi on, the impossible fabric kept tugging him in the direction of the rooms where his current house guest, Jennifer Walters, was staying. Even when he _wasn’t _wearing the cloak, it made itself a nuisance by knocking his papers off his desk, or smacking him on the back of the head, whenever he turned down an opportunity to spend time with Jennifer.

It wasn’t that Stephen didn’t want to spend time with her. Ever since the “nightmare” incident, he and Jennifer had made a point of having coffees together, or sharing meals and Stephen found himself enjoying every second of those moments. More importantly, he _looked forward _to seeing Jennifer every day. But, he was the Sorcerer Supreme and he had to put his other responsibilities above his personal life. Jennifer understood this, since she would have done the same if the Avengers needed her help as She-Hulk.

The cloak, however, didn’t seem to share Jennifer’s understanding. Earlier this evening, Stephen had told Jennifer that he couldn’t have dinner with her because he had to do some research. She hadn’t minded and told him that she would try and get an early night. But, the moment she’d left the room, Levi had snatched Stephen’s books off the table and flown out the window with them. It had taken Stephen several hours and several summoning spells for him to retrieve the books and lock Levi in its cabinet. But, the stupid fabric seemed so forlorn that Stephen hadn’t been able to stand being in the same room as Levi—hence his decision to study in the kitchen.

He shook himself to dislodge the thoughts of Levi, and tried to focus on the book in front of him. Without thinking, he made a gesture and his light spell shone brighter. He flipped through the pages in search of some new information. He’d taken out the book from the Library at Kamar Taj—after negotiating with Wong over the loan for several days—in the hopes that it would provide him with greater insight into the Dark Dimension. But so far, all the author had done was reemphasise the basic laws of magic that even the most novice student at Kamar-Taj knew. Honestly, he could write a better book.

_Hmm . . . now there’s an idea. I could try write something on the various ways I’ve utilised the Eye of Agamotto over the years. That should certainly make for an interesting read and—_

“Huh, and here I thought I was the only one awake.”

Stephen started and looked up. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was Jennifer, wearing her pyjamas and a tired smile. She walked towards him, pushing her long, forest green hair out of her face.

“Evidently not,” he agreed, closing his book.

She frowned as her eyes moved over the table, lingering on the piles of paper, open laptop and books in front of him. “What’s all this?”

“I was just doing some studying.”

“In the middle of the night. In the kitchen. In your pyjamas.”

Stephen sighed. “Yes.”

“That’s strange—and yes, the pun was intentional.” She tilted her head. “Are you all right? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine . . .”

She hesitated, then asked “Is it the nightmares?”

He tensed. Although his nightmares had become considerably less since the “nightmare incident”, there were still those nights where he ended up trapped in that psychedelic landscape with Dormammu. Nights where he died over and over and over again. Or, where Dormammu had him trapped and he was forced to watch as the world burned. Those were the ones he hated the most.

“Partially.” Then, he noticed the black circles around Jennifer’s eyes and the slump in her shoulders. “And, what about you?”

Her eyes dimmed. “I—I couldn’t sleep.”

“Was it the dreams about . . .” he trailed off. 

He’d gotten a glimpse into what happened to Jennifer while she’d been held hostage by the Leader—but he knew she hadn’t told him the full story and he didn’t want to press her for details she wasn’t ready to share.

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath and Stephen pretended not to notice that her hands were shaking as badly as his. “So, I decided that I’d work out a bit.”

Stephen’s eyebrows rose. When Jennifer had moved in, Stephen had converted one of the empty spare rooms into a gym. He had his own dojo, of course, but he had a feeling that Jennifer would have very different needs when it came to her training. In the gym, he’d installed padded mats on the floor, and brought in ropes, tires, massive kettle bells and heavy weights for her to use. He’d bespelled them all to be several times heavier than their normal weight—and he’d been shocked when she’d complained that they were too light for her. Once he’d remedied that, she spent most of her time there, working out with her earphones in her ears.

“You do gym in your pyjamas?”

“Is there something wrong with my pyjamas?” Jennifer asked as she folded her arms.

“Erm . . .” Stephen wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Jennifer’s pyjamas were a set of shorts and a sleeveless top that showed off her long, toned limbs, her smooth skin and her curves. Her rather gorgeous curves—

Stephen jerked his thoughts away from that path as his cheeks warmed. “I just don’t think that most people exercise in pyjamas.”

Jennifer chuckled. “Good thing we’re not most people, then. After all, most people don’t study by the light of . . . whatever that thing is.”

She gestured at Stephen’s spell as she spoke.

“That is the Light of Eärendil.”

“It’s pretty.”

Well, he supposed that was true. The spell generated ribbons of coloured light that twisted through the air, forming patterns and shapes that melted into each other before forming entirely new ones. The spell filled the entire kitchen with a welcoming, orange-gold glow that glinted off of the modern appliances and countertops.

“Thanks.”

“Do you program the movements, or does it just happen?” she asked as she peered closer at the spell.

“The spell responds to my unconscious mind or emotions, so the patterns reflect my mental state at present. Though, I can control its movements if I really want to.”

As he spoke, he concentrated. A ribbon of light spiralled through the air and formed the words “Doctor Stephen Strange” in elegant, cursive script, the kind he used to use before his accident. The pain in his hands flared slightly at the memory, but he ignored it as he formed the words a few more times.

“You see?” he asked, enjoying the slightly impressed look on her face.

“That’s interesting,” she said.

She moved closer to the spell and her eyes landed on the ceramic cups dangling from the hooks in the wall nearby. Something sparked in her eyes. She then moved away from the light spell to one of the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m looking for something.”

She knelt down, pulled open the cabinet and rummaged around until she found a pot. She glanced back at him.

“Hey, Doctor Unusual, do you want some hot chocolate?”

“What?”

“Do you want hot chocolate?”

“Bleagh, no. Vile, sweet drink.” He shuddered and she glared at him.

“What have you got against hot chocolate?”

“Have you tasted that stuff? It’s like drinking syrup.”

“I know. That’s why I make my own.”

He stared at her. “You make hot chocolate?”

“Yes.”

“From scratch?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’m still going to have to pass on the offer.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I know that I can make you a hot chocolate that you will find absolutely _delicious_.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Then, how about we bet on it?”

“All right, I’ll take the wager. What’s the prize?”

Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “How about the winner gets a kiss from the looser?”

Stephen blinked. “Sounds fair,” he said, as he tugged at the collar of his pyjamas.

Was it just him or was the kitchen a bit too warm? Or, maybe he was ill? It would certainly explain a lot. 

“All right.” She moved deftly through the kitchen, grabbing various items.

_How does she know where everything is? I don’t know where anything is and I _live _here. _

In a few moments, she had gathered dark chocolate from one of the cabinets, a few spices that were drying from the ceiling, as well as the little spice jars lining the counter tops, and some milk from the gleaming refrigerator. She even grabbed two cups from their place on the hooks near the light of Eärendil. The spell was clearly picking up on Stephen’s confusion, as it kept forming large question marks. Jennifer raised an eyebrow at it, but didn’t comment.

She went over to the stove and placed the pot on one of the plates. She added milk, using one of the cups to measure the right amount and waited for it to heat up.

“When did you learn to make hot chocolate?” he asked, curiously.

“When I was a clerk in a law firm. You won’t believe the amount of hot drinks attorneys guzzle in a day. I learnt to make hot chocolate, tea, coffee . . . the whole shebang.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Running out of coffee was like the start of the apocalypse in the firm where I used to work.”

Stephen snorted. Jennifer shot him a look. “I’m not kidding. Once, there was a gas leak and no one—_no _one—even batted an eye. Some of the lawyers had to be physically removed from the building because they wanted to stay in the office and do work.”

“They wanted to stay in a building _where there was a gas leak?!”_

“Yes, but the one day that we ran out of coffee . . . mass hysteria.”

“Do you realise how crazy that sounds?”

“Crazy or not, it’s true. Lawyers are like that.”

“Are you like that?”

“I’d like to think that I have a bit more common sense than most of my ‘learned’ colleagues,” she said.

The milk in the pot bubbled and Jennifer threw in the dark chocolate and stirred. Stephen watched as the milk darkened, turning a rich brown. She added a bit more chocolate, until she seemed satisfied with the colour.

“So, what was it like?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Working as a neurosurgeon. I imagine that it must be a pretty stressful job.”

Stephen shrugged. “It’s not too different from being a sorcerer. You have to focus entirely on the matter at hand and leave aside all other distractions. If you let anything interfere with that focus, you run the risk of killing the patient.”

“Yeah, that’s usually a bad idea.”

“Most definitely.”

“How did you end up being a neurosurgeon anyway?”

"A desire to help people.”

“Bullshit,” she said as she fixed her eyes on him.

Stephen raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“The word on the street is that you didn’t give a flying fart in space about your patients while you were a neurosurgeon. So, what’s the real reason?”

Stephen paused as he tried to sort through his thoughts. Jennifer kept her eyes on him, though she continued to stir the pot. He thought about waffling off some nonsense about really enjoying medicine, but he had a feeling that she would see straight through it. And, besides that, the thought of lying to her made him feel . . . uncomfortable.

“ . . . I didn’t start out being a surgeon from a desire to help people . . . I guess it was the prestige that got to me. I was in medical school and excelling, so when I encountered neurosurgery, I thought, why not excel at something that no one else could? It turned out that I was a natural when it came to studying the brain. And as I progressed, I relished the sense that I could do things other people could never dream of doing. The sense that in a way . . . I had power over the lives of others. Who cared about the people I worked on? I was a god, with the power to destroy Death itself . . .”

Jennifer gave a low whistle. “You really were an arrogant, selfish bastard.”

“Yeah.”

“But, not a complete bastard.”

“I can think of several people who’d disagree,” he said, and winced as he remembered the harsh words he’d said to Rachel.

She’d forgiven him, though it had been the end of their relationship. Her forgiveness surprised him. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself.

“I don’t know.” Jennifer looked contemplative. “A man who didn’t care about anyone else wouldn’t sacrifice himself to keep our world safe—repeatedly. And he wouldn’t try to help a stray dog.”

“I guess.”

“So, what happened?”

“What?”

“Something must have changed you—brought out the caring side of you. What was it?”

He glanced down at his hands. He could see the familiar patterns of scars where the surgeons had done their work. Over and over and over again with no results, until they’d run out of things to try.

As he readied himself to answer, Jennifer stopped him.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said, gently. “I’m just being nosy. Ignore me.”

“No, it’s all right.” He took a deep breath. “I was in a car accident. I was driving like a maniac—speeding, talking on the phone, looking away from the road. I crashed and suffered extensive injuries—particularly to my hands.”

He held them up so that she could see the slight tremor he had. He decided that he would avoid mentioning the constant pain he experienced. “The tremor meant that I couldn’t perform surgery anymore—so no more prestige, no more fame, no more power . . . I bankrupted myself trying to regain the use of my hands—to be a surgeon again. And, as each surgery failed, I started drinking. I drove everyone away . . . I eventually ended up in Asia, seeking a place called Kamar Taj. I’d been told that there I’d find people who could cure my hands.”

“Did you?”

“Kamar Taj turned out to be a training ground for sorcerers. And the sorcerers weren’t too fond of me. I begged them to teach me and the Ancient One—their leader—agreed. I trained hard and after a long time I reached the point where I could heal my hands.”

Her eyes honed in on his scarred, trembling hands. “But you didn’t.”

“No. Magic always has a cost and healing my hands would divert the flow of magical energy in me to keep my hands working. I’d lose my ability to do magic. I decided that . . . I could help people more as a sorcerer.”

There was a long silence as Jennifer looked at him. He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but he thought that there was pity, admiration and . . . something else, but she turned away before he should place it.

“I think that’s definitive proof that you’re not selfish,” she said as she glanced into the pot. “The chocolate has melted, so now all that’s left are the finishing touches.”

She reached out and added spices to the chocolate. Each time she added a spice, she’d taste and then add a touch more of one of the other ingredients. Finally, she seemed satisfied with the blend. She poured it into two cups. She placed the empty pot into the sink, turned off the stove and scooped up the cups. Stephen moved aside some of his study materials and she set down one of the cups in front of Stephen and slid into the seat next to him.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks—for this and the comment.” He took a glance at his drink. The liquid was a thick, dark brown and cinnamon-scented steam wafted up towards him. He wasn’t entirely certain what to make of it.

“You’re very welcome. So, what happened after you decided to remain a sorcerer?”

“After the Ancient One died, I took over as Sorcerer Supreme.”

“Impressive title,” she commented, taking a sip of her drink.

“It depends. When I drop the title in front of a dark wizard, they either step down, or go for me with all guns blazing.”

“And that’s when you take them out?”

“Most of the time. I try to fight smart, not hard, since there’s always a cost for magic.”

“Do you worry about the cost a lot? You keep mentioning it.” she asked with a frown.

“All the time.”

“Why?”

“I have to see whether the gain is worth the price . . . particularly if I’m not the one paying.” Stephen said. “I’d hate for a bystander to have to suffer because I decided that I wanted to use a spell.”

“What kind of costs are there?”

“They can be anything, from my own energy, to becoming a were-bear to death of a loved one.”

“I see why you’d worry then.” Her eyes went to the light spell. “What’s the cost for that spell, then?”

“The cost is my night vision for a few hours.”

She chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“I’m picturing you stubbing your toes because you can’t find your way in the dark.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s very mature,” he said, refusing to acknowledge that her mental image was extremely accurate.

Her eyes moved to the cup in front of him and she drummed her fingers on the table. “You haven’t tried the chocolate.”

“Oh.”

_I suppose I can stomach a mouthful, _he thought as he brought the cup to his lips and she did the same with her own. The liquid filled his mouth and his eyes widened. The richness of the chocolate, sweetness of the cinnamon and the vanilla, followed by the heat of cayenne pepper—the flavours danced over his tongue and he had to chock back an involuntary moan of pleasure. He schooled his features into a mask and lowered the cup. Jennifer lowered her own, her gaze piercing.

Well, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that it was the most delicious drink he’d ever tasted. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Now you know my story—what about yours?” he asked quickly, before she could ask what he thought of the drink.

She gave him a look like she knew what he was trying to do, but she said. “My father was a police officer, so I always was interested in the criminal prosecution system. I thought I could work as an attorney or a prosecutor, since my mother wouldn’t let me become a police officer. She was a bit too worried that I would get killed in the line of duty or something. So, law it was.”

“You must have been good at the court work.”

Jennifer snorted. “Oh, _hell no_. I was such a wall-flower back then.” Stephen had difficulty imagining confident Jennifer as a wallflower, but he didn’t get a chance to ask her about it as she continued to speak. “I got completely tongue-tied the first time I went to court. The judge blasted me and I got scared off. I ended up working for a corporate law firm for a while. But, I didn’t like that at all.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t feel like I was doing anything useful. Helping one company to buy another one, or helping companies structure their deals to avoid huge tax penalties . . .” she shuddered. “That’s not me. I became depressed, and one of my colleagues suggested that I become involved in the firm’s pro bono program. And, when I was talking to my first client, she kept saying that all the other legal assistance places kept brushing her off. That’s when I realised that if I didn’t find my tongue in the court to help my clients, no one else would.”

“Good incentive.” He took another sip of his drink. It really tasted amazing. “Now, how did you go from attorney to superhero?”

She smirked. “The pro bono work led me back to the courthouse. There was this one matter where I defending a guy who’d been accused of killing Nick Trask’s bodyguard.”

The confusion must have shown on his face, since she elaborated, “Nick Trask is a small-time crime boss who answers to Wilson Fisk.”

“The Kingpin of Crime? I thought he didn’t do small-time jobs.”

“He has his fingers in every pie. Anyway, it turns out that my client had been framed by Trask. I managed to gather enough evidence to prove it, but when I started putting my client through the examination process, someone jumped up in the back of the courthouse. He pointed a gun at me and shot me point blank in the chest.”

Stephen went cold. He could see it in his mind’s eye: Jennifer, lying on the floor of the courtroom, blood pooling around her and dying her clothes red. He clenched his fists, ignoring the way that the pain flared in his hands. Jennifer didn’t seem to notice his tension as she continued her story.

“I don’t remember much after that. But, I was told that they rushed me to the hospital. They had to perform emergency surgery on me to try and save my life—but I lost a lot of blood. And, the only person with my blood type was my cousin, Bruce.”

“The hospital just happened to have Bruce Banner’s blood in storage?” Stephen asked, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t think the military would have been happy about that.”

Jennifer gave him a sheepish smile. “Not exactly. I was kinda hiding my cousin from the military at the time, and when he heard about the shooting, he rushed to the hospital.”

“Ah. Nothing like a bit of familial unity against the forces of—”

“Pig-headed militaristic idiocy.” She supplied, making Stephen chuckle. “Anyway, when Bruce got to the hospital, he was given an impossible choice. Without his blood, I would die. But, his blood is radioactive, so giving it to me could have killed me anyway. He chose to give me a chance to live.” She gestured at herself. “This is the green-skinned, super-strong result.”

“Do you blame him?”

“What’s to blame him for? I’m alive, after all.” Her smile became sad. “But, he hasn’t forgiven himself for it.”

She went quiet and Stephen looked around for a change in topic. His eyes fell on a takeout menu stuck to the refrigerator “Rei’s Mediterranean Meals”—a restaurant which Tony Stark always insisted they visit after each Avengers mission—and another topic sprang to mind.

“Did you become a superhero directly after becoming She-Hulk?”

“No. I had no intention of joining the superhero life. Believe it or not, that was Tony’s fault.”

Stephen stared at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. You see, after Bruce joined the Avengers, he introduced me to them. He was particularly insistent that I meet Clint and Natasha. Anyway, Tony kept bragging that in his new Ironman suit he could take down the strongest villain. So, Natasha eventually had it with his bragging and told him to test the suit out against the strongest person in the room. Everyone thought she meant Thor, until she looked at me.”

Stephen felt a grin spread across his face. “I know where this is going.”

She was grinning too. “So, Tony and I arm-wrestled and I literally threw him through the wall of the dining room—and through the next few rooms as well. After that, he kept pestering me with phone calls until I joined the Avengers on a mission. The rest is history.” She gave him a look. “And, what about you, Stephen? How did you get roped into this?”

“Part of my duty as a Sorcerer Supreme is to protect people. Superhero work feeds into that . . . and there was the incident where the Vulture threw Spiderwoman into my dining room when I was trying to eat my spaghetti.”

Jennifer burst out laughing. “No way.”

“It’s true. It ruined my evening. That woman is completely insufferable. Would you believe she criticised me because the spell I used to stop the debris crushing the civilians didn’t rhyme?” He scowled. “I’m a sorcerer, not a poet.”

“So, you helped Spiderwoman get rid of the supervillain and then became a superhero consultant?”

“Something like that . . . though, I don’t charge for the consultancy work. The Avengers could never afford my rates,” he joked.

Jennifer laughed again.

_She really has a lovely laugh, _he thought.

“I think we could get Tony to fork over the money—or, at least, get Pepper and Morgan to bully him into handing it over.” She glanced down at her empty cup and sighed. “I guess I should get to bed.”

“So soon?”

“It’s the early hours of the morning. And, besides I’ve finished my hot chocolate . . . which reminds me, how did you find it?” Her lips quirked upwards as she asked the question.

He carefully made his face neutral. “It was all right.”

“How about telling the truth, you liar?”

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m lying?”

“Your light. The light of Ardiel”

“Eärendil,” he corrected.

"Whatever. The point is that when you took a sip of the hot chocolate, the light started spinning like a dozen Catherine wheels. You liked it, so just admit it.” Her eyes danced as she spoke.

He winced, and turned to look at the spell. Sure enough, now that he’d been caught out, it was shivering like a jelly and the spirals seemed to be . . . sheepish. He sighed and looked back at Jennifer, who was smirking at him.

“Don’t look so smug . . . . All right. You got me. I liked it.”

If anything, her smug smile widened. “Good to hear. And that means you owe me a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

She raised her eyebrow. “Don’t tell me it bothers you? Most men would jump at the chance.”

Despite her confident words, Stephen read something in her eyes. Vulnerability? Fear? Did that mean—

Stephen stopped thinking. He leant forward and pressed his lips to hers. His blood zinged and he could feel them both melting into each other as the kiss deepened. She pulled him closer, her fingers digging into the fabric of his pyjamas, and he responded by tangling his hands in her hair. He couldn’t believe how soft it was. Her mouth tasted of chocolate and a spiciness that belonged entirely to her. It made his head reel.

Stephen didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. A lifetime seemed both too long and too short. But, when they broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Jennifer brought her hand to her mouth and—for a second—Stephen could have sworn he saw a thin red thread running from her little finger, across the table, to his own hand. But, then he blinked and the thread vanished. 

“Wow . . . you’re a very good kisser, Stephen and—” Suddenly she chuckled, her eyes moving to the spell behind him.

He turned and gaped. The light of Earendil had disintegrated into an energetic display. Ribbons of light raced through the air, twisting into heart-shapes as they moved. Several larger hearts pulsed frantically with light. The remainder of the lights would curl into little balls and explode into a shower of heart-shaped, glowing embers.

He felt his cheeks burn. He made a gesture and the light instantly stopped moving, though the hearts remained clearly visible.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered.

“It’s no problem. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”

Jennifer reached out and cupped his cheek. Without thinking, he turned and kissed the palm of her hand and felt immensely gratified at the sound of her breath hitching.

“I really enjoyed myself” he murmured against her skin. “We should do this again.”

“What? Make out over hot chocolate?”

“Why not? Good conversation, good food—and good kissing. Sounds like a perfect evening.”

She gave him a dazzling smile that made his heart thunder in his chest. “I completely agree.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked this and that Stephen and Jennifer were in character. I had alot of fun writing this.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering, Jennifer is making Stephen a version of Aztec Hot Chocolate, which I absolutely love to drink.
> 
> Also, If anyone is curious about what story lines I referenced, feel free to give me a shout.


End file.
